


Kids With Guns

by Straight_Outta_Hobbiton



Series: The Next Steps [2]
Category: Misfits (TV 2009), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Dead Friends and Family, Gen, Grieving Nathan, Post-Apocalypse, Smarter Than You Thought!Klaus, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-18 19:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton/pseuds/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton
Summary: Reality comes crashing down, but sometimes, but fuck, it can't rain all the time, can it?





	Kids With Guns

 

Nathan is so like Klaus it’s… it’s a little bit frightening.

 

They’re not identical, exactly— even if they have the same face, Nathan is younger than them, only twenty-five or so, and he looks much younger. A side-effect of his apparent immortality, according to Klaus, who talks to his brother as if ticking off a mental checklist of hypotheses and predictions as they catch each other up on what’s been going on.

 

It’s a little bit frustrating, if Luther’s being completely honest with himself. He’s never understood Klaus, even when they were young and united in their fear of disappointing their father. He never entertained the thought that there might be someone out there who does, that there might be family, real family, who took one look at his mirrored face and called him brother.

 

Luther barely considers him a brother, most days. Dad’s lessons for him growing up required a certain level of distance; he had to be prepared for the sacrifices that come with saving the world, and sometimes those sacrifices are your team members.

 

(Team members, that’s how Dad referred to the others during their private lessons. They were team members, and Luther was the leader, so they were supposed to listen to him. They had to.)

 

Klaus handles Nathan’s every need. He’s the one who goes foraging for fresh clothes and blankets and extra food while Nathan sleeps off what was apparently a very terrible death, weak and shaking where he’s curled up in Klaus’ things. Luther would complain that he’s slowing them down, but they’re not exactly on a deadline, nor do they actually have to be anywhere, so he keeps his peace and lets Klaus take his time, and tries his hardest not to be jealous of the ease with which Klaus allows Nathan to slot into his life.

 

He tries.

  
  


*.*

 

“Good morning, Nathan. How are you feeling?”

 

Klaus specifically asked Nathan to be gentle with Vanya, which is easy, because Vanya’s honestly a little bit terrifying with her white eyes and her monotone, and Nathan doesn’t really want to piss of the lady who ended the world. That being said, she’s the nicest out of all of Klaus’ siblings.

 

And Nathan thought  _ his _ family was fucked.

 

Vanya might sound like a robot, but at least she speaks to him— Luther and Diego just glare at him, and every time he catches Allison looking his way she always looks so _ betrayed, _ like it’s _ his  _ fault Klaus never told them about his long-lost brother.

 

(It totally is, he thinks to himself. He’d asked Klaus to keep mum on his existence, once Nathan had caught up on his reading and done a little research on the Umbrella Academy. Crazy experiments performed on children in the night by a sociopath and his chimp assistant? No, he’s good on that, thanks.)

 

Five makes him the most uncomfortable, though. Klaus might get technical when he tries to work out the statistical unlikelihood of them both having powers, but when Five starts asking questions, he gets this look in his eye like maybe he wants to cut Nathan open, his gaze sending cold fear like static shocks down his spine.

 

Klaus says Five’s a little crazy. He’s already lived through the apocalypse once, except he’d been alone with no one but a mannequin he’s definitely fucking for fifty years. Nathan was only buried for six months and he knows he’s gone mad— Five must be… well, he’s probably absolutely bonkers, if his absolutely everything is any indication.

 

“Nathan?”

 

Nathan jolts, shaking away his train of thought to give Vanya his brightest smile.

 

“I’m just fine, love,” he says, patting the space on the blankets beside him. “Come on, have a sit with me for a while. I was just having my morning dose.” He holds up a lit cigarette in explanation, and after a moment, Vanya moves, crossing her legs as she settles onto the nest Klaus had built for him.

 

He hands her the battered pack and a matchbox. Arching an eyebrow, Vanya glances at the matchbox in his hand, then plucks a cigarette from pack and tucks it between her lips, pressing a fingertip to the unlit tip for a moment the pulling away again. She breathes in, and the tip cherries, smoke curling from her nostrils.

 

“That was hot,” Nathan hears himself say, eyes wide and mouth slack. Vanya’s mouth twitches, and she presses a finger to her mouth.

 

“I’ve been practicing,” she tells him softly. “Luther won’t like it.”

 

Nathan grins, leaning in to her shoulder easily as he blows smoke in her face.

 

“Well, your secret’s safe with me,” he says, because who the fuck would he tell besides Klaus?

 

“And Klaus,” Vanya says, because Klaus picked her to babysit Nathan while he was out scavenging for a reason, and the reason was that she isn’t a goddamn moron.

 

She doesn’t seem bothered by it, though, so Nathan doesn’t deny it.

 

For a minute, they sit in silence, and it’s almost comfortable.

 

“What were you, before the apocalypse?”

 

A wave of despair crashes over Nathan, stopping his breath in his throat. He thinks of Marnie, mad, wonderful Marnie, the little ones pulling at the fantastically slutty dress she wore the last time she came to visit, just a week before Nathan woke up under rubble.

 

“Not much,” he says, fiddling with the fraying edge of his t-shirt. “I was married, though. Marnie said she’d wait for me. She _ was  _ waiting for me.” His eyes feel hot. “Her and the kids were supposed to have me home, by now.”

 

His chin drops into his chest. He’d only had three months left of his sentence, when the world ended. He’d been looking forward to coming home. They’d been planning to take a trip to London, to see his friends and maybe punch Barry in the face—

 

There’s a hand on his shoulder, small and cold.

 

“I’m sorry,” Vanya says, and fuck, that hurts, because she _ means _ it in a terrible, visceral way that no one else could even begin to comprehend. She’s apologizing for destroying the world.

 

And she should.

 

Just… not to him.

 

He must be crying or something equally embarrassing and off-putting, because when he tries to take a breath he makes an awful, wet noise that makes Vanya’s hand slip from his shoulder. She try and comfort him— they don’t know each other like that, and anyway, Nathan would actually die if she tried— but she stays seated, her elbow occasionally brushing his as she smokes through her first cigarette, then another.

 

The company is… fine. Nathan’s embarrassed, but not the way he’d normally be. Klaus trusted Vanya to help Nathan take a  _ piss _ when he needed, for fuck’s sake— she wouldn’t laugh at him for crying.

 

Eventually, the tears stop, and Nathan is reduced to quiet, shuddering breaths as he attempts to find some semblance of control over himself. Ha— now that’s a laugh. As if Nathan has ever had control over anything in his life.

 

“Klaus could conjure them for you, if you wanted,” Vanya says, her eyes fixed on a distant point in the sky. “If you asked him to.”

 

Nathan’s thought about it. Of course he has. He’d be a moron not to.

 

“... but what if he can’t call them?” Nathan asks. It’s barely a whisper, too terrifying a thought to say out loud. “What if they don’t come?”

 

“Well, then either they’re alive or they’ve passed on,” Vanya says. “Klaus has trouble calling them from the Better Place, so it’s a possibility.”

 

Right, because Klaus knows what’s on the other side— has met God, even. What a fucking world.

 

Nathan sighs.

 

“I think I could do with a walk,” he tells Vanya, pushing himself shakily to his feet. “Care to join me?”

 

“You’ll tire yourself out,” Vanya warns him even as she moves to follow him. “And then I’ll have to carry you back to camp. Again.”

 

“That’s half the fun,” Nathan tells her, giving her his best leer. “A pretty girl carrying me in her arms like a swooning heroine in a romance novel— now _ that’s _ what dreams are made of, Vanya.”

 

She doesn’t reply, but she takes his arm when he offers it.

 

“Just once around the park, I think,” he says, his accent going high and posh as he wiggles his eyebrows at her.

 

Her lip twitches again.

 

Nathan counts that as a win.

  
  


*.*

  
  


“Why didn’t you tell us?”

 

Klaus does a very good job of not rolling his eyes, though he very much wants to. 

 

“I met him after I got out of county,” he says, idly picking through the racks of the small boutique he’d found during their supply run. Nathan’s a bit smaller than him, after all, and he can’t exactly wear Klaus’ clothes forever— he needs his own things. “I figured no one was really interested.”

 

“Klaus,” Diego says flatly. “You just made us walk _ twenty-five hundred miles,  _ just to check if this kid was still breathing. You didn’t think we wouldn’t be interested as to _ why  _ we were doing it?”

 

“No, I made you walk twenty-five hundred miles because I knew he was alive,” Klaus says. “There’s a difference.” He pauses at a red paisley button down. It’s not exactly his style— it’s more hillbilly than anything— but Nathan’s always liked red. Either way, he stuffs it into his bag.

 

“You knew— listen, I don’t exactly understand how his powers work, but I thought he traded the whole immortality thing for… for whatever the hell it is he can do.”

 

“Reality warping,” Klaus says. “Not as powerful as Allison, obviously— but he’s good with the little things.”

 

“Whatever. The point is, shouldn’t he be… you know, not immortal?”

 

Klaus sighs.

 

“Dad estimated that something like eighty-five percent of women had the potential to give birth to people like us,” Klaus says. “And that’s globally.” Oh, now  _ that’s  _ an interesting vest. “My initial theory was that the children born to these women— before and after us— all were born with the  _ potential  _ for abilities, which could be triggered in extreme conditions like, for example, a freak storm.”

 

“But he _ traded  _ his powers.”

 

“And I met the guy who claimed he could do it,” Klaus says. “And from what I could tell… it was legitimate. He really could do it… except for me.” He shakes his head. “I worked with him for six months, and we came up with nothing. We finally came to the conclusion that because I was already born  _ active,  _ he wouldn’t be able to complete a trade… I was able to take on new abilities, but I couldn’t return them.” He gives Diego a wry smile. “Besides conjuring, I can technically speak any known language. I haven’t tried to do it with anyone but the dead, but… you know.”

 

Diego’s quiet for a long moment.

 

“So… why is he still immortal?”

 

“Not sure,” Klaus says with a shrug. “But I think it has something to do with his Mum giving birth to me, first. He wasn’t born active, exactly… but half-cocked might be a way to describe it. The storm just kicked him into gear, that’s all.”

 

“... So when the guy thought he took his powers, he didn’t,” Diego says after a moment. “He just gave him… magic.”

 

Klaus nods.

 

“That’s pretty much it, yeah,” he says. “It’s all one big clusterfuck of happenstance and coincidence, if I’m being honest.”

 

“It still doesn’t explain how you knew, though,” Diego says, frowning at him. “How did you  _ know?” _

 

Klaus opens his mouth, but before he can speak, the sound of glass breaking and the sensation of being thrown back into a wall.

 

“What the—” Diego’s words are cut off with a grunt as he slams into the wall next to Klaus, the wind forced out of his lungs with a pained wheeze as he slides to the floor, stunned.

 

Then, there’s a gun in Klaus’ face, and a child’s voice behind it.

 

“Who are you,” the little boy with Klaus’ eyes and dark hair asks, his face thin and hard. “And  _ where is my Dad?” _

 

Klaus goes very still.

 

“... Junior?” he asks carefully, eyes darting between the boy’s face and the gun in his hands. “Is that you?”

 

The boy’s mouth hardens further. He pushes the barrel sharply against Klaus’ cheek.

 

“I won’t ask twice.”

 

“Jamie, you dummy, he’s not gonna tell you if you’re _ rude.” _

 

A girl appears beside the boy, pushing the gun away from Klaus with a firm shove. Christ, they _ all _ look the same.

 

“Simone,” Klaus breathes.  _ “Jamie,  _ oh— Christ on a cracker, you two have gotten big.”

 

Simone stares at him for a moment, her small pushed out mulishly as she takes measure of him.

 

“You’re Uncle Klaus, aren’t you?” she asks after a moment. “Dad’s rich brother.”

 

Klaus huffs out a laugh.

 

“Yeah, that’s me,” he says. “Simone, sweetheart, where’s your mother? Where’s Junior?”

 

Simone straightens her shoulders.

 

“Mom’s dead,” she informs him shortly. “And Junior got hurt. Where’s Dad?”

 

“He’s at camp, I dug him out of the rubble— you’ve been out here _ by yourselves?”  _ Klaus sits up sharply, wincing as the bruises already forming on his back protest at the motion. _ “Jesus Christ—  _ where’s your brother?”

 

“Why?” Jamie asks, suspicious.

 

“Because he’s probably got an _ infection,  _ and people _ die  _ of infections, that’s why.” Klaus runs an agitated hand through his hair. “Shit, Diego—”

 

“I’m fine,” Diego gasps, already scrambling to his feet. “I’m good.”

 

Probably not, but Klaus doesn’t have time to worry about that. Diego’s a big boy, after all. He can handle a little bit of rough housing.

 

“He could die?” Simone repeats, eyes getting wide. “I don’t want Junior to die.”

 

“That’s good. Let’s go get him, and we’ll take him to my sister. She can give him medicine.” They’d made certain to stock up, before they’d left for Vegas, and Allison has only been adding to their stockpile since then.

 

Neither child moves.

 

“Well, come on!”

 

Simone moves first, but Jamie is only a second behind her.

 

Klaus turns to Diego.

 

“Tell Allison we’re bringing her a patient,” he says. “And that we’re having guests for dinner.”

 

“Klaus, are these…”

 

“Nathan’s children. There’s three of them.” Klaus gives him a strange, thrilled little smile. “I haven’t seen they were in diapers.”

 

“Uncle Klaus!”

 

Klaus jerks at the sound of his name, nearly tripping over his own feet to race after the children wearing his face and carrying lethal weaponry.

 

He’s gone in a moment, leaving Diego standing in the single goddamn fashion boutique that survived the apocalypse.

 

What the fuck is his life right now?

**Author's Note:**

> Hope for the future comes in the shape of adorable babies, in my world. Clearly.
> 
> My favorite situation in all of fiction is 'person who is assumed to be terrible with children is then saddled with a children,' except this time it's to the seventh power because, lets be real, every adult in this fic would probably end up traumatizing a child on their own. Or would they? Hmmm...
> 
> I wrote Nathan as rather subdued here. I figured six months in a Carbonite Han Solo cosplay combined with the trauma that the world ended and his family and friends are probably dead might take a minute for him to wrap his head around.


End file.
